


Follow Your Heart

by 221blackandwhitestripes



Series: Gotham Season 5 Fics [8]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Deleted Scenes, Episode: s05e11 They Did What?, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mutual Pining, Season/Series 05, filling in gaps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 06:47:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18566125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221blackandwhitestripes/pseuds/221blackandwhitestripes
Summary: For a moment, Ed thinks that he could. Perhaps it really is that easy. Oswald has no trouble following his heart, it seems, can probably feel it tug him in the right direction like a string tied to his pinky finger. Ed could easily do it too. Lean in, breathe him in, press their lips together like he wants(oh, how hewants). A different kind of explosion in them. A different kind of sacrifice. Ed’s mind for his heart.But Ed could never do that.(Set during the events of 5x11)





	Follow Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic for four days straight, lol, now it's finally here. I hope y'all enjoy and thanks for reading.

Ed administers the last minute checks to the submarine like a doctor discharging his patient, mental check-board ticking off as he notes the turbines, the sonar and the engine: All in working order.

Once his task is complete, Ed leads the way to the old, steel ladder he’s procured to get to the top of the submarine. There’s ticking in his brain, and he is forced to turn back when he fails to hear Oswald’s following footsteps on the steel rungs.

“Is something wrong?” Ed asks, feels the riverside wind whip through his clothes, shaking the rung he stands on. Perhaps he should have thought of something better than this old, swaying ladder. It doesn’t seem very conducive to Oswald’s leg, as it is. If Ed could possibly find a pulley-system of some sort, he could perhaps rig up a makeshift elevator? Would Oswald find that too demeaning, or-

“Can we really be so cavalier about the destruction of Gotham?” Oswald interrupts his line of thought, swiping it away on the wind.

So _that’s_ what this is about?

Ed sighs and rolls his eyes _(some things are best left to rot)_. “Well, let me think about that: YES!” Ed glares down at Oswald, teeth gritted like sealed pavement as he nods.

Oswald makes a noise, visibly drawing into himself. Ed’s seen this before; the moment before an explosion where Oswald gathers every piece of himself into one huge ball until the inevitable click and _**boom**_.

“DAMMIT!” - There it is.

Oswald stalks away, leg dragging out behind him, an anchor in this concrete sea.

“Oswald!” Ed calls, feet catching on the ladder’s rungs as he struggles to descend them, catching the wind. “Where are you going?” His breath huffs out too fast for the short distance he runs, and he feels a sweat break out across his forehead despite the frozen-air breeze. “Oswald?”

He finally catches up, full-stopping in front of Oswald to block his way. His heart hammers in his chest, a repeated knife wound behind his ribcage.

Oswald wants to leave again. He can’t leave again.

_(Ed won’t let him leave again.)_

“This is my city,” Oswald spits and gestures beyond the docks to where Gotham lies smouldering in its pitiful destruction, “And I will be _damned_ if I’m going to let those bastards take it.”

“I cannot let you do this,” Ed insists, gloved-over hands clenched and heart thump - thump - thumping. There has to be a way to make him come with him. Ed _needs_ him to come with him.

“You, of all people, should want to stop those monsters.” Oswald’s voice is far too soft, far too sugary syrup sincere. He’s careful around Ed, now. _Understanding_. Like there’s no room for hate or boil-over rage in his bones anymore. Where did all that livid fire go? “They forced you to destroy haven.” Or - to Ed’s immense hope - it was never there, to begin with _(and this is eggshell-walking, letting hope spring into it)_. “-To murder hundreds of innocent civilians. You’re just going to let them get away with it?”

_Forget my revenge - **sacrifice** my revenge - to sail away with you?_

“I was kind of planning on it, yeah.” Ed nods, an animated sculpture stolen in a daring escapade.

Oswald sighs, leaning forward _(he’s close, oh so close, Ed can taste him in the air between them)._ “Very well. I’m going to follow my _heart_.” Oswald begins to walk away and it strikes Ed cold to think that Oswald’s heart is making him walk away from _him_. Edward Nygma. Oswald said it himself: they were meant for each other.

“Oswald!” Ed shouts after him, feels his insides ripple like a river with a body thrown in it. He silently thanks every star in the sky as Oswald finally turns back to him. “You have been down this road before.” They have stood at this pier countless times before _(bullets in his stomach, in heads, rattling as they drop to the cold concrete between them. Always at this place)_. “Following your heart has never worked out for you.”

Oswald’s eyes are broken sea-glass and dangerous, red water churning within them as he steps back into Ed’s space.

Ed inhales, intoxicated. Perhaps this is how he can get Oswald to stay? Pulling him in the way they both want _(they can fall into the river together this time)_.

“Perhaps,” Oswald states and Ed has to blink away his water-clogged thoughts to remember where he’s standing. “But perhaps you could listen to this-” Oswald’s finger jabs at Ed’s chest _(a knife to the heart)_ “Instead of this-” Oswald points at Ed’s head _(and there are two gunshots down the end of that pier, and Oswald’s gone and given him everything again)_.

For a moment, Ed thinks that he could. Perhaps it really is that easy. Oswald has no trouble following his heart, it seems, can probably feel it tug him in the right direction like a string tied to his pinky finger. Ed could easily do it too. Lean in, breathe him in, press their lips together like he wants _(oh, how he **wants** )_. A different kind of explosion in them. A different kind of sacrifice. Ed’s mind for his heart.

But Ed could never do that.

Oswald’s gaze slips away, something crushed-up _(powder in neat rows)_ and broken between his knitted brows. Ed wants to touch him, to feel that pain in Oswald’s gaze as it seeps in through his skin. Perhaps then, he can understand, mind unfolding the puzzle into something he might understand. 

But Ed’s body remains inert and he is statue-still, locked in place forever. Perhaps he will remain here, frozen in this moment of desperate-wanting without the mindlessness to give in. They’ll find him years later, ice frosted around his corpse much like his frosty display back at the iceberg lounge, bitter and still, mind still capturing this moment. 

_(Ed may never see Oswald again.)_

“I’m going to miss you, Edward,” Oswald chokes out, face twisted like nothing Ed’s ever seen. A soft sob like it’s the end of an era, and Ed has to look past him and out to the disturbed birds-nest city just to keep afloat.

“I’ll miss you too, Oswald,” he admits, tries to keep his vocal cords clear even as they twist and threaten to break under the strain.

_I wouldn’t have to miss you if you’d only **come with me.**_

“I’m not talking to _you_ ,” Oswald cries, physically taking a step back as if black-water repulsed by Ed’s words. “I’m talking to the-”

Oh. The dog. Of _course_.

“God,” Oswald scoffs, limping away towards his first-prize mutt. “Ed, come on, my baby.”

Ed feels his gut wrench and shakes his head at himself. He has no reason or right to be disappointed. Oswald isn’t his to hold or to keep _(although he could be if he stayed. All he has to do is stay)_.

Oswald walks the dog over to him, and Ed takes the leash without complaint. He still isn’t overly fond the mutt, but Oswald clearly trusts him to take care of his namesake, and Ed finds himself unwilling to let him down twice in one day.

_(How cold it would be to lay waste to such trust.)_

“Go with the man in green,” Oswald instructs the dog. “You’ll be safe.” He turns to walk away, and Ed must stay here now, must bury himself in the soil of his choices and accept his fate.

Ed is a statue. _A statue, a statue, a statue, a statue, a statue-_

Oswald’s leaving.

“Oswald-” Guttural and wretched, Ed feels something inside himself crumple like paper-waste. “If you walk off this dock, I’m taking the submarine!” he quick-fire threatens. _(Don’t you dare leave.)_ “AND THE _TREASURE_!”

Oswald continues to walk away until Ed is left with nothing but the ash in his mouth and the mutt by his side.

“Fine,” he whispers, hears the dog pant heavily beside him. “This is how it must be.”

Ed unhinges his joints, cracks the granite moulding over his skin and forces himself to turn away.

“Come… Edward.” He tugs on the dog’s leash stiffly. “Into the sub.”

When he reaches the ladder, he is forced to carry the mutt up the rickety rungs, breathing heavily through his mouth so he doesn’t have to _smell_ him. How can a perfectly cologned man like Oswald Cobblepot have a dog that smells _this_ terrible?

“There you go, Edward,” Ed sighs, placing the dog carefully onto the sub-floor. “Stay still for me, would you?” Ed carefully climbs in after him, feet hitting the cold steel.

The dog whines softly, and Ed is forced to give it attention again.

“Yes, what do you want?”

The dog whines again, trotting forward to lay his head on Ed’s knee, looking up at him reproachfully.

“Oh, of course,” Ed remarks, soft as a petal dropping in Spring. “What else could it possibly be?” Ed hesitates for only a moment, but then he’s placing his hand on the dog’s head and stroking its soft fur. “There, there, Edward.”

The dog whines again. He must be heartbroken.

“H-he’ll come back,” Ed lies, but the dog doesn’t seem placated. “He loves you - I’m sure of it - he wouldn’t just abandon you.” Oswald has never abandoned Ed before.

Until now.

“Come now, Ed,” Ed grits his teeth and tries not to sniffle, feeling uncomfortable itchiness swelling in his eyes. “No need to get upset.”

In a moment of desperation, he turns to the control-panel, checking the fuel-gauge and the engine-light before preparing to switch it on.

Any minute now.

Any minute.

Ed sighs, full-body collapsing back against the sub’s wall. “You’re right, Edward. We cannot leave without him. Don’t worry, I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure Oswald is safe.”

Edward’s slobbery lips stretch out into what Ed supposes could be considered a smile by some anthropomorphising human’s standards. Of course, Ed doesn’t abide by such stupidities.

“Yes, well, stay here and be a good dog,” Ed instructs, patting the dogs head as he selects a gun from his arsenal. “I’ll bring Oswald to you as soon as I can.”

Luckily for him, Ed knows exactly where Oswald will be.

***

Sneaking around the GCPD precinct is as easy as it ever was - perhaps easier with the swarm of mood-covered refugees and crushed-up invalids littering the floor around him. Ed swallows away the blood and bandages and strides forward to the captain’s office, leaning against the shadowed window with his gun pressed to his chest and ear pressed to the glass to hear the words kept inside.

“-That was the most lost I’d ever been.” -Oswald, sliding over on the mess of one of his nostalgic episodes. It’s been a while since the last one. Ed doesn’t see them as much anymore. “Because I was away from this city, you see. It’s a part of me.” Perhaps he was speaking of the time Ed found him long-lost and shoulder-wounded in the woods, clinging to life with dirt-caked nails and barely surviving. Ed had taken him back to Gotham - had saved him. Stopped him from being lost again. 

“You know what I’m talking about because it’s a part of you too.” Perhaps Oswald is right. Ed can _feel_ Gotham in some way, the dirty concrete settling its dust in his lungs while the blood-washed gutters poison his veins. He’s spoiled for anywhere else. Gotham is his true home.

“Sure, I could escape - with money, I might add,” _(And Ed as well, spellbound and ready to be whisked away)_ “But then what? Stand on the shores of the mainland and watch the army burn it to the ground? Then watch tasteless industrialists and vapid politicians rebuild it?” Ed salt-shakes his head at the mental image, stomach knot tightening at the thought. “No.”

So this is why Oswald chose to come here. His heart premonitioned him a future he could never be happy with. And Ed tried to deprive him of the chance to do something.

How… _shameful_.

“My life is etched on the walls of every alley and dirty warehouse here. My blood lives in its broken concrete. I’m staying to fight. For my legacy.”

And if that’s what Oswald wants, then Ed wants it too.

Besides, having Gotham on its knees, ready for a new king? What could be more promising than that?

Ed spies Bullock rushing up to the door and quickly steps back further into the shadows, eyes following the bulking man closely.

“The army just busted through the GCPD checkpoint,” Bullock tells them, breath heavy in his voice. Freaking mouth-breather. “They’re heading to the barricades, Bane’s leading them.”

Ed swallows - feels his stomach lurch to the railings and cling on tight.

“How many men?” Jim barks.

“Six, seven-” _(not so bad,)_ “-Hundred.” _(Well, shit.)_ Bullock; ever the bringer of good news.

“Still wanna fight?”

Ed feels his heart beat faster, hears it thump - thump - thump, pulse thrumming in his veins.

Time to follow his heart.

“Wha- how many do we have?” Oswald asks as Ed steps out of the shadows.

“Maybe thirty?” Bullock answers.

Ed sees Oswald laugh in disbelief and has to school his expression out of late-smile tardiness as he says; “Thirty-one.”

The room stares at him blankly, mouths hanging agape, but Ed only has eyes for the man across from him.

“It takes two men to pilot that submarine, Oswald,” he tells him, let’s the lie curl out gracefully even as his heart flutters erratically like leaves in the wind. “The dog can’t do it.” Oswald warm-water smiles, and whatever happens, today will be worth it. “And ditto on that blood and concrete thing. I kind of like this city the way it is.” Ed cocks his gun, feels everything click into place. “Shall we? I believe time is of the essence.”

“Gentlemen.” Jim nods.

Oswald turns back to him. “Remind me to talk to you about that full pardon.”

Ed smiles. They can do this. Together, they can do this.

***

Ed has never been to war, but he didn’t imagine it would be like that.

_(The gunfire, the grenade, the panic, the shield, his screams.)_

Ed plays it again through his mind: Policemen lined up like tin-soldiers, Oswald standing shoulder to shoulder with him as they peered down their scopes. The gunfire rattling in their ears, blocking out every sound and every thought. There was only the trigger of his gun and the occasional instinct to duck, to dodge _(to run away)_.

Oswald shouting, voice carrying like it always does, and Ed’s heart might just be shot today, standing by his side and school-yard taunting the enemy.

_(The grenade, the aftermath, he should have seen it coming.)_

More shots and Ed’s legs moved on instinct, the two of them sitting, backs to the barricade, imminent death on their breath.

A clinking sound _(oh God, oh God)_ , the grenade right in front of them.

“ED!” Oswald screaming his name, tearing through Ed’s heartlines.

And Ed did _nothing_.

He saw the grenade, felt Oswald by his side and did _nothing_.

 _That might kill us_ , he’d thought. _That might kill him_.

Heart hammering, he did _nothing_.

Then Oswald was covering him, holding him, screaming in pain _(and it was all Ed’s fault)_.

The rest is a blur, them getting out of there alive, Oswald leaning on him, handkerchief clutched to his eye _(I’m sorry)._

Now, catching his breath, lungs screaming at him _(Oswald’s blood-curdling screams)_ , Ed press-plays the scene over and over in his mind. The gunfire - like rain in a thunderstorm. The clinking grenade - innocent as a dropped coin on the subway. The panic - his heart stopping. Oswald covering him - front pressed to his back like a shield. His screams.

_(His screams.)_

The gunfire, the grenade, the panic, the shield, _his screams_. Gunfire, grenade, panic, shield, _screams_.

Ed had said he’d do whatever it takes to keep Oswald safe, but he couldn’t even do this.

Ed sits by Oswald side, clutching a pair of glasses that aren’t his own, and there’s nothing to say. He should have stopped this from happening, but he did nothing. Absolutely _nothing_.

“Hey, move!”

Ed startles from his trance, forces himself to his feet and turns to his friend.

“Upsy-Daisy, Oswald,” he says, offering his hands ( _I’m sorry)_. “We’re running out of time.”

He helps him up and tries not to flinch at each grunt of pain.

“Just - just give me one minute,” Oswald begs, leaning against the stair rail just to remain upright. The ground beneath them is shaking, and everything is blurring in and out of focus and Ed has forgotten to breathe again.

“I’m so sorry,” Ed confesses, wants to hold him close, to suck the pain from his body like snake venom and ingest it all himself. “I saw the grenade and I froze, I-I-” Ed reaches for him with his glasses-holding hand, feels his heart drop to the floor as Oswald gently pushes him away, shushing him.

“It’s the least I could do,” Oswald tells him, matter-of-fact staining his tongue. Oswald’s done so much for Ed - far more than he ever should have. Can’t he see it?

Ed wants to grab him by his lapels, pull him into his skin, press their lips together like they’re wild things. He’ll show him that he couldn’t bear to leave Gotham without him - that he tried, he really did, but the call of his compass-heart brought him right back here and Ed wouldn’t change that for the world.

Ed swallows and remains still.

“But - tell me,” Oswald asks, hand earth-quaking on Ed’s chest, “Does it look bad?” Oswald removes his handkerchief and Ed’s heartbeat grinds to a halt.

There’s blood covering Oswald’s eyeball, dripping from the corner where the skin of his under-eye has been torn away, red flesh gaping up at Ed with a sabre-tooth smile.

This isn’t fascinating, it’s a fresh layer of Hell.

“No,” Ed brute-forces out, “It’s just a scr-” Bile slow-rises up Ed’s throat and he has to choke it back down, coward-turning away. Oswald’s eye, pale sea glass found on Gotham’s shore - lost. Ed couldn’t save it.

“L-looks fine,” he amends, tries to gather up all his frayed-out tethers, “Let’s go.” He holds the glasses delicately in his hand, feels the broken lens press against his palm as he lets Oswald lean on him for their getaway.

“Where did everybody go?” Oswald asks, voice blurry, waves of hysteria rising up. Ed clutches him closer, holding on for dear life _(he won’t let him go)_.

“The precinct, probably,” Ed tells him, tongue stumbling. “But I’m taking you to the hideout. It’s safer, no one will know we’re there.”

“O-okay.”

They tumble through the streets, concrete crevices threatening to cave open their minds, but Ed holds Oswald fast against him, determined not to fail him twice.

The bells ring as they stumble inside the hideout, and Ed immediately locates Oswald a place to sit, hands fluttering like butterfly wings as he helps him to the chair.

“Okay, I have a first-aid kit around here somewhere, just-just hold tight okay, Oswald?” Ed’s sure his hands are much too shaky, all too quakey to do this, but he _must_ , if only to make up for his mistake.

“It’s fine, Ed, really.” Oswald is far too calm.

“It’s not fine,” Ed snake-hisses and shakes his head. “None of this is fine.” Shakes his head _(his fingers are trembling)_ , shakes his head again. He finds the first-aid kit beneath a pile of abandoned sub gear, shakes the contents out onto the table without thought and arranges them neatly with his shaky hands.

“Okay, okay,” he whispers. _(Okay, okay.)_ “We have iodine, codeine, plasters, bandages, a sling, some salt packets, antibacterial wash, hand sanitizer, purified water, a saline solution-”

“Ed, calm down,” Oswald groans from his chair. “You’re speaking so fast, I can’t _process_.”

“Right, right,” Ed nods, “You’re right.” He stares down at the items and blinks.

_(Right, right.)_

This is the part where it’s supposed to come together, where Ed sees a picture in his mind of where he will go, how he will start. It happened that way when he found Oswald shot in those woods - one look at his injury and his array of tools and he knew exactly how to proceed. Now, it’s like all his weapons are filled with blanks, and he keeps firing and _firing,_ but nothing happens.

“I-I’ll be back.” Ed’s feet stagger from the room, hands finding a dead pot plant to hold-heave his guts out in.

_(Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.)_

“Ed?” Oswald calls from the other room, voice dark-cave echoing down the hall.

“I can’t do it, Oswald,” Ed sobs out, feels his heart retch up his throat and splat out onto the ground. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, so, so, sorry-”

“Ed, it’s going to be okay,” Oswald tells him with a firm grip. “Come here and we can work this out together.”

Ed stumbles back into the room, kneels himself in front of Oswald’s chair like the subject of a king. “I’m sorry, Oswald, I don’t know what’s wrong with me…” Ed’s voice scatters the wind, lost to himself as Oswald’s shaky hand lands in his hair, smoothing it back gently. 

“It’s okay, my friend. You can do this, you know it. Just take a deep breath for me, okay?” Oswald demonstrates with a long inhale and Ed follows suit. “Okay, now, what do you need to do first?”

“You’re in pain,” Ed states, some of the clouds in his vision billowing away with the force of his exhale. “We need to give you something for that before we can proceed.”

“Okay, what do you have to help the pain?” Oswald safety-guides him through it, the hand not clutching his blood-soaked handkerchief to his face resting on Ed's shoulder.

“I have the codeine - that could work,” Ed supposes, “But morphine would be better.”

“Do you _have_ morphine?” Oswald finger-points out.

“No,” Ed admits despondently.

“Then codeine it is.” Oswald taps his shoulder and Ed gets to his feet, sanitizing his hands and taking the codeine from the table with the purified water.

“What next?” Oswald asks after swallow-guzzling the capsules.

“W-well-” Ed breathes deep, in and out _(in and out)_. “W-we should clean your - your eye to get the blood out.”

“Okay,” Oswald nods. He is ten times stronger than Ed could ever be. “And I suppose that will hurt?”

“I’m afraid there is a chance that your cornea has been scratched so… yes, it may be very painful,” Ed admits, hands fluttering at his sides as he watches Oswald take another swallow of water. Why must he be so useless? He’s a scientist for goodness sake! This is his forte.

_(But Oswald looks far too small in that chair with that bloodied handkerchief, and Ed had just sat there, frozen, and let this happen.)_

No, no, he has to stay focused, for Oswald’s sake.

“L-let me try the saline solution, and see where we can go from there.” Ed gently takes the purified water from Oswald’s grasp, turning back to the table. Luckily, the first-aid kit has a nozzle device used to administer eyewashes, so this shouldn’t be too difficult.

_(Oh, what a **mess**.)_

“This isn’t your fault, Ed-” Ed stops mixing, shoulders freezing up. “You have to remember that.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Oswald,” Ed mumbles. Oswald can believe what he wants, but Ed remembers what happened _(the gunfire, the grenade, the panic, the shield, his screams)_ and he wishes he could just go back and change it all. “The solution’s ready.” Ed turns back, carrying the mix carefully to Oswald.

“Let me-” He takes the handkerchief from Oswald carefully, their fingertips brushing _(pull me closer)_. He steels himself against the rush of nausea and fear at the sight of the bloodied eye and ragged skin, focusing instead on keeping Oswald in place with a hand on the back of his head.

“Breathe in,” he instructs, waiting for Oswald’s inhale. “- And out.” Oswald exhales and Ed squeezes the solution into Oswald’s eye, feeling the pushback against his other hand as Oswald flinches. “It’s okay,” he whispers, trying not to shiver. “I’ve got you.”

Oswald gives the barest of nods. “Again.”

“Okay.” Ed washes the eye until the solution is gone and Ed is simply sitting there, staring at Oswald’s eyes from mere millimetres away. There is, indeed, a scratch - a bad one too - but there’s nothing Ed can do about it except cover Oswald’s eye up to protect it from further harm.

“W-what next?” Oswald asks. He’s shaking a little, clearly struggling against the pain _(Ed wants to wind his fingers through his hair and pull him close, kiss it better and take the pain away)_.

Ed sighs.

“I need to disinfect the wound beneath your eye, then bandage it,” he recites, calming his voice. “I’ll use the iodine, so it will definitely sting.”

“Okay,” Oswald nods, “Okay.”

_(Okay.)_

Ed wishes their positions were reversed. Back before the bridges blew, when Sophia Falcone had ruled these streets, Oswald had taken Ed into his home and patched him up, taken care of his ruined mouth and stabbed-through thigh. It is far easier for him to feel the pain than to see someone he lo- cares for go through it.

Ed quickly turns away, sanitizing his hands again just in case before grabbing the iodine, the antibacterial wash, a rolled-up bandage and some cotton swabs.

“I have to wash the blood and dirt away before I can disinfect the would,” Ed explains to Oswald, carrying the supplies over to him. “Let me know if you need me to stop.”

Oswald inhales pencil-sharply, nodding his understanding. Ed pours the wash onto a cotton swab before gently grasping Oswald by the chin and applying it to his cheek. He holds his hand there for a moment, giving Oswald the opportunity to wince, flicker, and flinch before he slowly begins to wipe away the blood and grime. There’s a lot of blood, unsurprisingly, some of it already dried and crusting over Oswald’s pale moon-grey skin.

“Thank you for this, Ed,” Oswald whispers around a wince.

“Don’t speak, it makes it hurt more,” Ed whispers back, mouth pinching tight in his worry.

“No, but really: Thank you.” Oswald’s good eye is far too bright and watery and Ed feels his heart - _(crush)_ \- ache in his chest.

“It’s the least I could do,” Ed parrot’s Oswald’s earlier sentiment back to him, feeling his lips twitch ever-so-slightly. “Now, will you let me finish this?”

Oswald nods, lapsing into silence once more.

Ed finishes washing the blood away, then begins to apply the iodine, feeling Oswald’s hold clench tightly over his shoulder at the sting.

“Don’t worry, not much more to go,” he assures him, making sure not to rip the already shredded skin.

“O-okay,” Oswald replies, shaky but sure.

Ed finishes as quickly as possible, not wanting Oswald to suffer any longer than he has to _(he’s already done enough)_. “Stay still so I can bandage it,” he instructs softly, unwinding the bandage. He wraps it around Oswald’s head, securing it with a few safety pins. “It’s not too tight, I hope?” Ed looks into his good eye questioningly.

“No, it’s good,” Oswald assures him, fingers comforting rubbing gently against Ed’s shoulder, a tangle of intimacy Ed doesn’t want to escape from. “You did well, Ed, thank you.”

Ed exhales shakily, tongue caught between his teeth. He feels it again _(the need to pull Oswald in, to get lost in him all over again, to learn his touch and taste)_.

Edward Nygma is not an impulsive man.

“Ed, what is it?”

Ed leans in and kisses him, tastes the electric tang of blood on his bottom lip, feels the pressure, the delicate destruction of having Oswald _so incredibly close_. But Oswald remains statue-still and, eventually, Ed has to draw away.

“Oswald?”

Oswald's eye is closed, his lips pressed together in a firm line.

 _Oh_. Oh, Ed should have seen it, clearly should have known that Oswald doesn’t want him anymore _(not like that, no)_. His heart has led him away from Ed. Of course, it was obvious. How had Ed missed it?

“I’m sorry, Oswald,” Ed stammers, finding a shaky standing on his trembling legs - backing away from the incredibly foolish mistake he’s made. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Ed,” Oswald dismisses with a sharp wave of his hand, his eyes remaining closed. “You’re just upset, it’s understandable.”

Ed shakes his head, breaths coming out sharp and quick like bullet rounds. “Oswald, I-”

_**BOOM!** _

The two of them jump, Ed’s eyes widening as he trips over to the window. Through the darkness, he makes out the sight of the explosion. A building, cols concrete that towers high above the skyline. And it’s falling.

“It’s Wayne Enterprises,” Ed gasps out and turns back to Oswald - sees the turmoil in his gaze. “Oswald, we need to get out of here.”

“Lead the way.” Oswald nods.

***

Oswald leans on him again on the way back to the GCPD, but his limbs are stiff cardboard and Ed worries that perhaps Oswald can no longer be comfortable around him after what he’s done. It wouldn’t be the first time Ed has ruined things between them.

He lets Oswald go ahead of him so he can protect the rear, walks in behind him as Oswald announces their presence with: “The army blew up Wayne enterprises and knocked down two other buildings. We don’t stand a chance.”

It’s true, and Ed wonders if this is the moment Oswald finally gives up fighting for this city, where he turns to Ed and says that he’d like to leave now, that they can finally sail away together and lose themselves for good.

“Actually, that was Bruce and Selina,” Lucius tells them.

Ed stops short. “What?”

“The army’s blocks away,” A female officer - Harper, Ed thinks - comes in to report.

“From what direction?” Jim asks.

“Every direction,” Harper replies.

“We’re surrounded.” Lee states before Ed has the chance to. _Lee_. Ed needs to speak with her about Oswald.

Oswald turns away to find a place to sit and Ed waits for Lee to finish with Gordon before quickly catching up to her.

“Lee,” he pants, stepping up beside her. “Oswald damaged his eye in the fight. I did the best I could, but I don’t-”

“Did you clean the wound properly and administer a pain relief?” Lee asks practically, ever the clear-headed surgeon.

“Yes, but I only had codeine,” Ed tells her.

Lee hums. “Well, we ran out of morphine a couple of hours ago, I’m afraid. Your bandage looks good to me, as far as I can tell, but I can take a closer look if you really need me to.”

Ed sighs in relief. “Thank you, Lee.”

Lee tilts her head at him, a furrow in her brow. “You really love him, don’t you?”

Ed’s chest seizes, his breathing falling short _(love is a far-too-dangerous word)_. “Wh-what?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Lee shakes her head, “Show me to my patient.”

Ed nods, leading her to where Oswald sits against the wall.

“How do you feel?” she asks, leaning close to examine the bandage.

“What do _you_ think?” Oswald spits venom, rolling his good eye.

Lee turns back to Ed. “He seems perfectly fine to me. You did good, Ed.”

Ed sighs in relief, accepting the comfort of her hand on his shoulder after a moment’s hesitation.

“Now, I have some more people to take care of,” she tells him. “So, if this goodbye…”

“Yes,” Ed nods, “A truce.”

Lee nods as well. “See you in Hell, Ed.” And she’s gone.

“Ugh, trust you to get all soppy with your ex,” Oswald groans.

“You call that soppy?” Ed questions, raising his eyebrow. “Lee has the ear of Jim Gordon, it’s better to have her as an ally than an enemy.”

“Whatever.” Oswald rolls his good eye again _(and Ed would call it jealousy if he didn’t know better)_.

Ed licks his bottom lip, and it hurts that he can still taste Oswald there. “D-do you still want to fight?”

Oswald looks up at him, an apology primed on his lips, and Ed already knows what he’s going to say. “Yes, I do. But you don’t have to. I understand.”

“No, no, I-” Ed sighs, biting his tongue harshly. 

_(How can he tell Oswald that dying out there, shoulder to shoulder, is far more preferable than meeting his eventual untimely death in a sewer-gushing gutter in the backwaters of this city, alone with no one for the police to call when they find his corpse cold from Gotham’s vampiric bite?)_

“No,” Ed shakes his head firmly. “I want to stay.”

Oswald smiles. “For better or worse, then.”

Ed nods. They’re going to die. They’ll be gunned down in the street like wild, rabid things. But they’ll be together. Equals in death. The same.

And that will be okay.

***

They don’t die. It’s a miracle, really. The soldiers turn their guns to each other, and he and Oswald stand there, _alive, alive, alive._

Ed can feel it in his bones, the adrenaline, the endorphins. He’s flying high, king of the clouds. Oswald turns to him, grinning, fire in his sea-glass eye.

Ed laughs, hysteria pouring, dripping down his mouth to stain his suit. Leans into Oswald’s space, wants to cry out because _they did it_ , they survived.

But Oswald pulls him in, a hand caught up in his hair, and everything disappears when he presses their lips together. 

It’s harsh and glorious, Oswald's tongue caught inside him, licking against his palate to erupt shivers down his spine. Ed clutches him oh-so-close _(close, close, close)_ , and this is definitely the wartime high, the post-battle haze, and soon enough Oswald will be pushing him away, excusing his behaviour and walking back the way he came, but for now, Ed keeps him close _(close, close, close)_ and breathes him all in. 

Heart beating in his palms, he drags them down Oswald’s suit, feels his ribs move as his chest expands with each breath _(alive, alive, alive)_. Oswald responds in kind, hands travelling and exploring, glorious as they dig up Ed’s shirt, press against his skin. It’s far too cold in Gotham’s midnight air, but Ed doesn’t complain as Oswald’s simple touch warms him a thousand times over.

But then Oswald’s chuckling, and he’s stepping back, and he’s shaking his head, and it’s time for Ed to prepare for the worst.

“Ed,” Oswald laughs, “We survived.”

“Yes,” Ed smiles, feels his heart clamour in his chest like an old English church bell, “Yes, we did.”

Oswald shakes his head, disbelief on his breath as he regards Ed with his good eye. “Take me home,” he says.

“Where’s that, now?” Ed asks.

“Wherever you want,” Oswald tells him.

Ed takes him back to the hideout, switches on the lights and the gas heater only to be gathered in Oswald’s arms once more, bundled up in his warmth as he places kiss after kiss to Ed’s face.

“We did it,” Oswald breathes, laughing again. “We did it.”

Ed doesn’t speak, just pulls Oswald into another full kiss, presses their bodies together in the way that he so desperately craves.

_(Devouring each other beneath a moonless sky, they can let the darkness take over.)_

Ed’s hand reaches to touch the side of his face and accidentally brushes against the bandage, causing Oswald to wince.

“Sorry, sorry,” Ed babbles, pulling away. 

Oswald dismisses it with a wave his hand. “Ignore it.”

Ed stares at him _(this is really happening)_.

“Now,” Oswald pulls him in by his tie, a grin in his teeth, “Where were we?”

Ed kisses him again, grips his waist tight to keep him close. Oswald moans breathily in his ear, and Ed hears himself respond in kind.

He can feel his heartbeat in his fingertips. 

Oswald tugs on his tie, grinning impishly as he breaks away. Ed lets himself be lead until he's pressing Oswald up against the wall, looking down at his teasing smile.

“Go on,” Oswald challenges, leaning back to peer up at him with his good eye _(sea-glass floating upstream where it shouldn’t be found)_. “Do it.”

Ed thinks he'd lay his life down for Oswald, would stumble and fall for Oswald, endure any amount of pain for Oswald, topple an empire for Oswald. 

But, instead, he drops to his knees.

***

It’ll never happen again. The next morning - or mere hours later - they replace their scattered clothing, breathe in the new day, and forget the night before. Ed silently adjusts his tie as he carefully files the memory away, deep in a cabinet in the recesses of his mind _(he’ll go back and find it someday, revisit the time he held the world in the palms of his hands and marvelled at it)_.

Then they’re off to the GCPD once more, Ed letting Oswald lean on his arm again. They glance at each other, and Ed sees it in his eye: _don’t talk about it_. But also: _thank you_.

The GCPD is abuzz with new energy, reports coming in about the upcoming aid from the mainland. It seems Nyssa Al Ghul’s whereabouts are still unknown.

Edward spots Lee within the crowd, stethoscope around her ears, checking up on another patient of hers.

“Hello, Lee,” he greets, stepping up to her smoothly.

“Hey, Ed.” Lee nods, not looking up from her patient. “How are you feeling?”

Ed smiles, opening his mouth to speak his answer, but Lee cuts him off with a wave of her hand as she turns around.

“Oh, dear _God_ ,” Lee groans, rolling her eyes at him. Ed stands statue-still, wondering what this is about. “You had sex, didn’t you?”

Ed’s mouth trap drops open, gloved hands clenching the air automatically. “How could you _possibly_ know that?”

“Look at you.” Lee shakes her head, moving her stethoscope back from around her ears. “You never smile this much without a reason. You’re practically _glowing_.”

“I, well, I-” Ed coughs, feeling his cheeks colour bright under her thorough inspection. “How very observant of you.”

“Now, I assume it was with Oswald, otherwise I _will_ be surprised,” Lee laughs, snapping off her medical-grade gloves to replace them for the next patient.

Ed’s mouth remains pinched shut as he refuses to acknowledge her.

_(Candlelight dancing over Oswald’s skin, his hand in Edward’s hair, he hadn’t wanted it to end.)_

“Ah, so it is Oswald.” She nods to herself with a smirk. Ed expects she’s _very_ pleased with herself. “Well, spare me the details. I’d rather not know what goes on between you too.”

Ed scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Very clinical, _doctor_. For your information, it was a one-time thing.”

“Oh?” She raises her eyebrow at him. “So, you both talked about it then?”

“Well…” Ed’s voice dies out. 

_(Well, no_.)

“Oh, Ed,” Lee shakes her head at him. “You are far too predictable.”

“To be fair,” Ed starts, holding up a single finger as he sets his shoulders and breathes. “It was just oral.”

“Oh my _God_ , Edward.” Lee clutches her head in her hands, shaking it heavily. “Please leave before I _strangle_ you.”

Ed frowns. “Fine, whatever.”

“When the supplies come, I’m sending all those condoms to you,” Lee mutters under her breath. Ed walks away, not exactly enamoured with the idea of acknowledging that particular sentiment.

He spots Oswald talking to Barbara across the bullpen, lips stretched into a sunlight smile as he regards the baby in her arms. Ed makes his way over to them, a smile of his own gracing his lips as he overhears their conversation.

“A-and have you named the baby yet?” Oswald asks. Ed struggles to hide his amusement at the way Oswald keeps a respectful distance, hands clasped behind his back.

“Yes, I have.” Barbara nods with a smile. “Barbara Lee Gordon.”

“Ah.” Oswald nods his approval.

“Of course, don’t tell her father that,” Barbara adds with a conspiratorial wink. “I’m hoping it’ll be a surprise.”

“A nice one, I expect,” Oswald agrees.

“I still think Edwin would be better,” Ed announces primly, stepping up beside him. “Or perhaps Edith or Edie.”

Barbara rolls her eyes, rocking the baby gently against her chest.

“Or perhaps Oswin?” Oswald joins in with a smirk. “Or Osvalda?”

“Barbara is fine, thank you very much.” She rocks the baby once more before shifting her carefully from one shoulder to the other. “I haven’t forgotten what you two did, by the way.”

Ed presses his lips together, swallowing air quickly. Yes, he hadn’t thought them trying to escape with the treasure without her would go on unnoticed, but after everything that’s happened, he’d kind of hoped they’d just let bygones be bygones.

“Oh?” Oswald’s shoulder presses against Ed’s and Ed presses back in reassurance.

“Yeah. In the hospital,” Barbara reminds them. “You stayed, to save me and my child. You didn’t have to, but you did. So, thank you.” Barbara nods her head to them, and they nod back respectfully.

“Well,” Oswald begins, casting him a glance, “I’m sure little Barbara will grow up to be quite the strong, feminine presence in Gotham if she is anything like her namesake.”

“Why, thank you,” Barbara purrs, placing her hand over the baby’s head protectively.

Exchanging harried looks, Ed and Oswald silently agree that it’s best they slip away, now, before anything particularly hostile comes up. 

“Oh, and by the way, boys,” Barbara snatches their attention once more. “I hereby release my hold over your treasure.” She smiles, rich and sincere as she looks down at her baby. “I have my treasure right here.”

“Of course,” Oswald agrees quickly, a hand tugging on Ed’s sleeve sharply. Ed doesn’t hesitate, following Oswald out of the precinct and bidding the gothic tomb adieu. He doesn’t wish to find himself in that place _ever_ again.

“Where to next?” Oswald asks once they’re outside and he’s adjusting his gloves against the bitter cold.

“Well, Captain Cobblepot, I think it’s best that we go inspect our treasure.” Ed offers him his arm, stomach set aflutter at Oswald huff of laughter.

“I suppose that makes you my First Mate?” he asks, taking Ed’s arm _(firm, close, come **closer** )_.

“Co-Captain’s a possibility, too,” Ed points out, rolling his eyes.

“Sure.” Oswald shrugs benevolently. “Lead on, Macduff.”

“Did you know that that phrase is actually a misquotation?” Ed asks, brain buzzing to life like an old static television. “It was originally ‘Lay on, Macduff,’ which means-”

“How about you tell me on the way?” Oswald rolls his eyes, pulling Ed forward.

“Okay,” Ed agrees, falling into step beside him.

***

“Ed,” Oswald begins He is cool and calm - like the ocean before a storm, clouds gathering overhead _(this will be magnetizing and electric, Ed can feel it in his spine)_. “Is it my damaged eye, or is the submarine-”

“Missing,” Ed finishes, gravel in his throat as he stares at where the submarine was once moored. “It’s gone.”

“It’s gone?” Oswald echoes, hollow like the pit in Ed’s stomach. “It’s _GONE?_ ”

“Oswald-” Ed croaks, reaching for him but thinking better of it as he watches the storm take over, Oswald’s eyes alight with fury.

“How the hell did this happen, Ed?” Oswald screams. “Who the hell would-”

Ed’s heart stops as the name appears before his eyes in neon-coloured font just as it dawns on Oswald’s features as well.

“Nyssa Al Ghul,” he grinds out. “That utter _Banshee_. I hope one of those wretched mines blows her sky-high and she sinks down to hell where she _belongs_.”

Ed stands perfectly still, muscles tensed against the onslaught of rage. He has to tell Oswald eventually - what all this means. About… the dog.

“How could this happen, Ed?” Oswald continues to scream. “What - did you leave the fucking key in the engine, ready for her to take?”

Ed shakes his head slowly, granite cracking around his neck.

“The treasure, Ed, she has all of it!” he yells. “She has everything, every diamond, every dollar, every slab of gold, she has-” Oswald stops mid-sentence, turning to Edward with a deathly glare, and Ed already knows that he knows.

_(Oh **dear**.)_

“Ed,” Oswald begins, voice deathly still, barely carrying through the deathly wind. “Where is he?”

“I-” Ed exhales - shaky.

“Ed.” A step closer, dangerous, knife glinting in Oswald’s eye. “What did you do with him? Where’s Edward?”

Ed gasps, choking out non-syllables as he forces himself to stay put. He needs to face this.

“Edward Nygma, what the _hell_ did you do with my dog?” Oswald screams, voice tearing through the frosty air like a midnight murder run.

Ed swallows salty shame, feels his insides curdle. “I left him in the sub.”

Oswald licks his lips, quirking up a smile in the silence. “What?” The wind howls

“I-I…” _(Oh dear.)_

“You let my dog be taken away by a psychopathic, mass-murdering wench?” Oswald screams, and he’s in Ed’s space, pressed against his chest, one hand holding Ed’s head back by his hair _(close, close, close, far too close)_. “I’m going to tear your skin away-” Ed catches sight of Oswald’s knife, polished and pristine before it presses against his flesh. “And you will die, screaming, choking on your own blood.”

Ed’s breaths come in short bursts, pulse thumping in his throat, pressing his skin against the blade. He’s going to die and Oswald will be the one to kill him _(finally, it’s happening, Ed’s feels like he’s been waiting forever)_.

Slowly and discreetly, Ed sneaks a hand into his trouser pocket, pulling out his own knife.

As he said before; If he must die, then they shall die together.

Ed breathes in and out, positions the blade to slide up under Oswald’s ribs and right into his heart. Just like he taught him.

All of a sudden, Oswald steps away, expression lost and withdrawn. “Edward?”

Ed frowns his confusion. “Yes, what is it?”

“No, not _you_ ,” Oswald hisses, rolling his eye and waving him away dismissively. “Ed?” He turns, limping down the docks and over to the base of the iron structure above their heads. “Is that you?”

Oh, _dear God_ , it’s the dog again. How does this keep happening?

A loud _ruff_ echoes out from beneath the structure and out scampers Edward the dog, short little tail wagging enthusiastically.

“Oh, thank _God_ ,” Oswald cries. “Oh, you are such a good boy. You escaped the bad lady, didn’t you? Didn’t you?” 

Ed thinks better of pointing out that Nyssa most likely kicked the mutt out to avoid dealing with it and instead walks up behind Oswald and bends, allowing the dog to sniff his hand.

“Good dog,” he tells it stiffly, eyeing its squashed face. He supposes it isn’t the worst little animal on the planet.

“Well, and here I thought you hated each other,” Oswald laughs, shaking his head. “Let’s get you home, Ed.” Oswald grabs the still-attached leash, pulling the dog up by his side.

Ed looks at them both, twin expressions of excitement on their faces.

Are they really not going to talk about what just happened? Any of it?

“Shall we?” Oswald asks and Ed finds himself nodding.

“Yes, we shall.”

***

“Good boy, now, off to sleep.”

Ed stands in the doorway, watching in a thought-clouded daze as Oswald tucks the dog into his little bed.

Oswald’s affinity for mongrels is not lost on Ed, and he is well aware that Jim Gordon is the first in line to play games of fetch with bones and treats. The man practically came out of his mother’s womb barking orders, the detective can never stop yapping. Man’s best friend, indeed.

At least Edward is more reserved, and a far more trustworthy companion. Ed can see why Oswald cares for him. Loving something that will follow you around after you feed it a few times sounds very convenient.

Ed wishes _people_ could work that way.

“Are you watching me?” Oswald asks, disturbing the quiet peace.

“No,” Ed answers quickly. “I’m just… thinking.”

Oswald walks up to him, closing the door tight. “What about?”

“About…” Ed trails off. 

_(Oswald’s in his space again, his scent under Ed’s nose, and honestly, he’s thinking about last night, about pressing him against the wall, but also the knife against his throat down at the docks and how everything is a close-call these days.)_

Ed swallows. “I was thinking about how, after everything, we’re back to being nothing again.” Ed shakes his head at himself, walking back to the hideout’s main room. Outside, it’s dark again, the navy blue sky drawing Ed to the window on an invisible thread. Oswald’s footsteps echo behind him, the armchair protesting as he takes a seat.

Ed can hear the helicopters, the chaos of a new start. Gotham is to begin again, now. But Ed won’t benefit from any of it.

“It’s infuriating,” he hisses, balls his gloved hands into fists.

“It is,” Oswald agrees vehemently, foot stamping hard onto the neatly tiled floor. “And to think of all the effort I went to - procuring _everything_.”

Ed watches silently as a helicopter lands itself atop the GCPD building, no doubt filled with supplies sent from the mainland.

“I still can’t believe it,” Oswald spits. “That bitch stole our submarine.”

“And our gold.” Gotham is repairing itself without them. And as the cards fall, Ed has no doubt that Jim Gordon will land as King on top.

“And, by now, she’s probably landed somewhere on the mainland - impossible to track.” _(Bitter is the man who watches good things come to those who do not deserve it.)_ “After all we’ve been through these last months, we are once again left with nothing.” _(Nine months of work, twelve months of survival, and all that’s left is-)_ “Nothing!”

( _Empty looting pockets, no more aces up their sleeves.)_ “Back to square one,” Ed grinds out. “Common criminals.”

He might as well be little Eddie Nygma again, blurry-eyed and lost in the swarm of _normal_ people in this city. Killing nobodies like Doughty, or _dear Miss Kringle_. An amateur in a sea of amateurs - lost forever.

“We saved this city from certain damnation, but will we see any credit for our loyalty?” _(We are not another two soldiers, walking down a straight, narrow line.)_ “Our selfless bravery?” Ed was not made to be a back-marching dog, shining shoes and taking orders. “Of course not!” Ed is _more_ than one of them.

“I don’t want their thanks,” he growls, feels his marble-statue exterior crust over his skin. “Or their _respect_. You know what I _felt_ standing shoulder-to-shoulder with those people out there?” He turns on his heel to face Oswald in his chair, expression of hurricanes and turmoil. “Nothing,” he finishes, continuing forward, towards him “I feel absolutely _nothing_ for those drab,” Ed rolls his eyes up into his skull, “ _Boring_ people.”

Oswald sits in his chair, staring. The storms, the hatred, it’s all lost as Ed speaks.

“That was me once,” Ed states, tapping a rhythm on his chest, bittersweet. “Minimum wage at a thankless job at the GCPD.” Ed clasps his hands in a mockery of prayer. “‘Yes, sir’, ‘no, sir’, ‘thank you so much, sir’. Picking up _scraps_ from my master’s floor.” _(Just another dog with a collar he could not see.)_ “Shy. Awkward. _Pathetic_.”

_“And when did that stop exactly?”_

Edward turns to the mirror, sees _him_ staring back at him.

“Ed.”

 _“Just because I’m quiet, doesn’t mean I’m not around,”_ Ed tells him, leaning forward against the glass. _“I still remember what we were. Who we’ve been.”_

Ed shakes his head, adjusting the shoulders of his suit. “Common criminals. Never again.”

_(Never again.)_

No more umbrella-boy. No more riddle-man. Only Penguin and the Riddler. _(No one will stand in their way.)_

“I have shown this city who I truly am once before,” he tells Oswald, feels the ground rumble with oncoming prophecies, “And I will _do it again_.” Ed rolls his eyes in the mirror, and he turns spitting venom at the image. “They will _bow_ to the Riddler, and they won’t get up until I permit them to.”

“Yes.” Ed hears Oswald’s feet hit the shivering tiles as he stands. “You’re right. Our accomplishments have been erased. Our brilliant minds underrated.” _(Just two men, standing next to **nothing**.)_ Jim Gordon took everything away, bewitched Oswald into helping him once. Ed won’t let him take anything more. “If they had let me run this city the way I wanted to, it would not be in ruins now. I had the men, the money, the guns-”

“Gordon took them,” Ed hisses, turns to face Oswald with his arm outstretched. “Why? Because he still sees you as Fish Mooney’s umbrella-boy, and he always will.”

“Yes,” Oswald breathes, a soft ocean breeze in this room of candlelight and shrouded dignity.

“I only came back to help him save this city so I could take it for myself!” Ed yells. He won’t rest until he sees Jim Gordon in ruins, standing over the wreck of his police badge and his dear _GCPD_.

“We would be stronger together,” Oswald utters into the quiet. “No one could stop us.”

 _Us?_ Ed closes his eyes - remembers Oswald pressed against the wall, feels the pressure of his hands at the small of his back, in his hair, between his thighs. One-time only.

 _There is no us_.

“Yeah. Perhaps,” Ed agrees hollowly, licking his lips as he adjusts his suit again. He smiles.

Life is a mysterious thing, an enigma trapped inside a puzzle-box wrapped up with a riddle-tied bow. But death? Well, that’s the biggest mystery of all.

Ed said himself, a long time ago; a man with nothing he loves is a free man. And Ed should like to be free.

“Let’s make a pact,” Oswald begins, “Here and now. We will take _what_ we want from _who_ we want and we will suffer _no_ fools.”

Ed turns to him and smiles a poison dart. _If I can’t have this city, no one can._

“Together.” He sliver-slips his knife out of his trouser pocket and offers his hand to his _friend_. “Shall we shake on that?” 

_Would you like it in the heart?_

“Please, after everything we've been through together, we are past a handshake.” Oswald’s eye swims wet, and they both know what this is. “A hug.”

 _In the back it is_.

“A hug it is.” Ed takes a step towards him and prays they won’t regret this.

They edge into each other’s arms like tectonic plates, fitting together comfortably. Ed can feel the point of Oswald’s knife as it digs into the back of his suit, and this is the part where he presses his knife to his back as well, where he pushes and slides until they’re both losing blood, dying on the floor, clutched in each other's arms.

But maybe he doesn’t want that. Maybe it would be okay if he dies alone, in Oswald’s arms, instead of dragging him down to the depths of hell with him. Maybe then all of this could be for _something_.

“Ed?” He’s still waiting for the knife.

“I-” Heart in his hands and he can’t let go, no matter how hard he tries. _(Maybe he’s not that much of a statue after all.)_

“I-I _can't-_ ” Ed chokes, hiding his shame-face in the crook of Oswald’s neck and inhaling deeply. _(Close, close, close.)_

_(Riverside bullets and corrosive acid above his head. He’d rather die here than let go.)_

“You love me, don't you?” Oswald asks in the quiet stillness, hand gentle and caring as it presses between Ed's shoulder blades.

“You hate me, don't you?” Ed rasps out, feels the ground beneath him shift and shiver treacherously. 

“No!” Oswald gasps, pulling away, shaking his head. “No, no, no, no-” Oswald pulls his hands away from his back, and Ed immediately misses the contact until he sees what Oswald’s fingers hold. “I love you, too.” The knife glints, silver turned to gold in the flickering candlelight. 

Silently, Ed holds up his own knife, watching Oswald’s movements closely. 

“Oh.” Then Oswald’s laughing, delirious and rich, and Ed joins in, back arching over in his delight. 

“So much for looking me in the eye when you stab me in the heart,” Oswald tells him, hands curled into the lines of his suit, pulling him close _(close, close, close, so terribly, terrifically close)_.

“You never know,” Ed shrugs, let’s laughter pour out of his mouth like an open faucet, “Could still happen.”

“Yeah,” Oswald rolls his eye, “Sure.”

Ed licks his lips, feels the static in the air pull him in, a magnetization he can’t repel. 

“And our one-time thing?” He asks, leans into Oswald’s space.

“One-time thing?” Oswald questions, cocking his good brow.

Ed shrugs, gaze drifting to the wall.

“Oh.” Oswald’s eye lights up. “ _That_.” He smirks. “A one-time thing?”

Oswald’s hand drifts down his front and Ed loses all focus as he pushes into the contact, a whine on his breath.

“You should be so lucky.”

Ed huffs, smiling down at this ridiculous man who holds his heart captive from the world.

Oswald pulls him down, and Ed will never not love the taste and feel of his lips pressed to his own, the way Oswald’s hold of him never lets up, the mischievous swipe of his tongue.

“Life begins anew, gorgeous,” Oswal pants, pulling away with his bottom lip shiny pink and _delectable_.

Ed smiles.

“Shall we get to work?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Any and all comments/kudos are greatly appreciated.


End file.
